


Brighter Than Sunshine

by nightbirdrises



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Neighbors, Other, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in New York City is almost everything that Kurt Hummel has ever dreamed of - but when an anonymous note-writer drops into his life, he has to wonder if there’s something more out there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Aqualung's [Brighter Than Sunshine](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3In8VPzZwAE); this was originally posted on [Tumblr](http://kurtfuckmel.tumblr.com/post/42323568325), but I thought it was time to expand my horizons, so to speak.

Kurt supposes he should consider himself lucky.

After all, he's managed to snag a decent apartment in New York City without bankrupting his entire family in the process, and he got enough financial aid to keep up with his NYU tuition. He still can't quite believe he'll be starting his second year there, preparing to study design for stage and film at Tisch. Granted, it isn't NYADA, but Kurt let that ship sail long ago.

The apartment is small and could really use some of his Kurt Hummel flair, but it's cozy enough. There's a tiny kitchen that could just barely fit two people which is connected to the living room and a narrow hallway with doors leading to a closet, the bedroom, and the bathroom. His favorite part of it, however, is the balcony overlooking the quiet street tucked into the Upper East Side. It's technically an old, modified fire escape, but Kurt found that it's the perfect place to have a cup of coffee and just watch the city wake up each morning.

Not all the apartments have balconies; true to the zigzag style of the fire escape, the platforms alternate going up. Looking straight up, Kurt can stare directly at the bottom of the balcony two floors up, while the one right above him is on his left side. The stairs still remain for some reason, though yellow CAUTION signs warn against using them while chains have been stretched across in an attempt to prevent anyone from trying. It's not the most elegant of fixtures, sure, but Kurt loves it anyway.

He has yet to meet his neighbors, though he's spotted a sweet-looking older lady leaving the apartment next to his. She'd smiled at him and nodded before ambling down the hall to the elevator. Kurt hums as he unpacks the few kitchen supplies he's brought along, thinking about baking cookies to bring to her as a gift. That's what good neighbors do, right?

Once everything is unpacked (except for his own bed sheets, but that can wait), Kurt throws himself haphazardly onto the couch and pulls his laptop onto his legs, a cup of chamomile tea on the table next to him. The fall semester starts in two weeks and, for now, he feels utterly at peace. There's something nagging at the corner of his mind, though, vying for his attention yet darting away when he tries to determine what it is. He shrugs it off as a side effect of moving into a new place; Kurt isn't going to let some unnamed thought ruin this big step for him. The dorms were nice, of course, but the constant presence of his roommate - a decent guy named Alex with a penchant for horrible magic tricks - had been incredibly wearing on Kurt's patience.

 _Speaking of guys..._  Kurt notices an email headed with "Kurt, please read" and rolls his eyes.  _Not again_. He doesn't even have to read the email to know what it says as they've all said the same thing: I miss you, what happened to us, I'm sorry, and so on. He's already explained that he liked the guy well enough, but the entire time they were dating had seemed... incomplete. Something was always missing. That strange feeling returns and Kurt deletes the email with a sigh - despite his irritation, he never feels good about having to be so stubborn.

After dealing with the rest of his inbox, he searches for audition opportunities to jump on in the theater community. Kurt had played a variety of very minor roles in the past year, which was exciting considering his lack of success in Ohio, but it's not going to cut it for him for much longer. He wants recognition for something other than Angry Citizen #3 or Stoned Homeless Man (okay, that part had been fun, he has to admit).

He scoffs at the number of overly masculine leading parts available and recalls his dad giving him what Kurt had dubbed the 'Unicorn Speech.' Sure, he's grown out of his penguin phase and has spotted more than a few guys giving him the once-over on any given day, but he isn't the type of masculine these people seem to be looking for. Still, he notes down the dates of a few auditions and hopes for the best.

Kurt stretches leisurely on the couch, closing his laptop for the night. A glance towards the window affords him a fleeting view of the reds, blues, and fading yellows of the sun setting between the buildings before he hears a series of erratic thumps echoing from the hallway. He's off the couch in a flash, worriedly pulling the door open to see... nothing. Out of the corner of his eye he catches some movement - the door to the stairwell, closing with a dull thud.

"Hello?" he says tentatively. There's no response except for some music playing faintly from one of the other rooms. With a shrug, Kurt turns back into his apartment. After making sure to lock the door securely - after all, one can never be too cautious - he cleans up the kitchen, humming a cheerful, nonsensical tune. Once the dishes are in place and the counters are sparkling again, he puts on a loose sweater and lounge pants and slides the glass door open to step out onto the balcony. Now it's dark outside except for the perpetual glow of city lights. Sometimes Kurt misses the stars he could actually see in Ohio, the way they twinkled and shone from billions of miles away. There's something sad yet a little bit hopeful about how the light one sees in a star actually began eons ago - and the star may be long dead.

Maybe one day, years after he's gone, people will still remember Kurt Hummel the way they can see the stars long after they've expired. He just hopes they notice him  _before_  as well as after.

He's about to go back inside when something drops next to him, just grazing his arm. Kurt jolts in surprise and looks up, but there's no one there - just the balcony two floors above him. He kneels down to find whatever it was that fell and discovers an envelope tied to a solid ring carved from wood, which was apparently used as a weight to keep the letter from blowing too far off-course. Kurt's first thought is  _What kind of idiot aims something with a weight at my head?_  But it isn't long before curiosity takes over as he steps inside, locking the sliding door behind him.

The envelope is unmarked, sealed with a plain red sticker. Kurt carries it to the bedroom and drops it on the nightstand as he goes to wash up. Throughout his skin care regimen - which doesn't take as long as it did in high school, mostly because he's too exhausted every night to do the whole thing - he's thinking about the letter and whether or not he should open it. Is it really meant for him? Could it just be a prank? There's no name on it to indicate that it's really for him, anyways.

"Nope, not gonna open it," he mutters to himself as he returns to the bedroom. "I'll just leave it at the front desk..." Kurt trails off, staring at the innocuous white envelope on the table.

_Ah, fuck it._

He settles down first, turning the lights off and the lamp on before getting into bed with his reading glasses on and a book in hand. Once he's suitably propped up against the pillows, he looks over at the table again. After a moment's hesitation, Kurt picks up the envelope and rips it open before he can change his mind. Inside is a hastily folded sheet of notebook paper, just as plain as the envelope. He unfolds it carefully, as though it might explode at any moment. He's faced with some lines of neat handwriting, scribbled across the paper with little regard for the faint blue lines. Kurt can't help himself - he starts reading.

**

_Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's a letter, so..._

_Okay, if you haven't already ripped this to pieces, I'm impressed. I tried, but I can't find the  lyrics to tell you how you took my breath away when I saw you at the front desk yesterday. I don't think you saw me - I was hiding like a middle school student with a huge crush around the corner._

_Maybe I'll find the courage to talk to you someday. Until then, expect more of these... I promise I'll try harder to make them romantic and meaningful. Nothing says 'hey, I really like you' like When I Get You Alone, right? (I'm kidding - I've already tried that, and it did not work)_

_\- Nightbird_

_P.S. Please don't question my alias; I have my reasons._

_P.P.S. Those jeans you were wearing? ... wow. I still haven't recovered._

**

Kurt rereads the letter once, twice, with wide eyes. This has to be a prank - people just don't  _do_  this kind of thing for Kurt Hummel. And yet, here he is in his bedroom, holding a letter from a potential secret admirer. He feels a sort of giddiness come over him the likes of which he hasn't felt since one Finn Hudson smiled at him in the hall during his sophomore year of high school.

He tucks the paper back into the envelope, considering his options. He could go to the front desk in the morning and see if anyone recognizes the handwriting on the note, but Kurt realizes that he doesn't want to know. Not until the sender is ready to tell him, at least. He could just throw the letter away and write the entire thing off as a joke, some trick played by drunk students with nothing better to do.

Kurt scoffs to himself; he may be cynical, but there's no way he can just throw this away like it's nothing. Instead, he puts the envelope in the drawer of his nightstand, on top of some now-useless brochures.

He tries to read for a while to get his mind off of the letter, but he can't focus properly. Glancing at the nightstand every so often, he soon realizes that he's getting nowhere. He puts the book on the nightstand and shuts off the lamp. A final check of his phone for any messages, a discarded realization that he still hasn't unpacked the sheets, and he's curling up underneath the one blanket he  _has_  managed to unpack, wincing at the lack of sufficient coverings on the mattress.

In spite of his slight discomfort, it isn't long before Kurt's drifting off, the contents of the anonymous note still bouncing around his thoughts. He smiles, a secret fantasy playing out in his mind of someone singing to him, of someone taking him out for coffee and memorizing his order, of love.

He has no idea what this could lead to, but he's anxious to find out.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being in New York City is almost everything that Kurt Hummel has ever dreamed of - but when an anonymous note-writer drops into his life, he has to wonder if there's something more out there for him.

 

Kurt's awake ten minutes before his alarm the next morning with a pounding headache and groans when he realizes that he has to meet up with one of the TAs for History of Stage Design at noon. He manages to sit up, stretching and yawning, and glances at the nightstand - the memory of last night suddenly fresh in his mind.

Leaning over, he opens the drawer and peers inside, expecting it to all have been an extremely vivid dream. But there it is, the anonymous letter, laying on top of the brochures just as he'd left it. The sight brings a smile to his face, despite his headache, and his mood lifts tenfold.

Kurt pauses for a moment before taking the letter out of the nightstand to read it again. The handwriting, neat yet rushed, has a sort of character to it. Kurt wonders vaguely if he could look closer and somehow see this person - his name, where he's from, his favorite movie ( _he better have some damn good taste or I may have to rethink this_ ), even his potentially annoying habits. He wants to know everything. But he's not going to go snooping around, not if the sender hasn't given any indication that he wants him to.

Another yawn, and Kurt decides on the spot that some coffee and a pastry of some kind would make a decent breakfast. He carries the letter with him from the bedroom to the kitchen, where - _damn_. There are no coffee beans to grind; he hasn't replenished his stock.  _Well_ , he thinks,  _there's no time like the present._

The note is left on the kitchen counter as Kurt hurries off to change, blushing a little as he remembers the postscript about his jeans. It definitely has no influence on his decision to wear an even tighter pair today, of course not. That would be ridiculous. Surprisingly, it isn't long before Kurt is sufficiently satisfied with his appearance, his hair having been much easier to tame than usual today. Bed head - his worst enemy - seems to have passed him by this time.

After downing a couple of painkillers for his headache, Kurt grabs his phone and keys and heads out the door, a last, lingering glance at the letter still resting on the counter sending his spirits sky-high. He hums all the way down in the elevator, his earlier bad mood washed away in the light of a new day and the memory of an adorably cheesy message.

He's passing through the lobby and about to go out the doors when a voice stops him.

"Hey, you're Kurt, right?"

Kurt turns around, but doesn't see anyone except the concierge at the front desk and a man in glasses who was apparently just talking to him. The concierge is looking at Kurt, though, and he seems like he's about to crack into a wide grin.

"Kurt, I've got something for you," he says.

"What is it?" Kurt asks, walking towards the desk. The other guy mumbles something to the concierge and walks away quickly, but Kurt doesn't pay him any mind.

"Someone left me an envelope. They said it's for a Kurt, and here you are."

An envelope? No - it can't be. Can it?

"Okay," Kurt says uncertainly, taking it from him. Unmarked except for a plain red sticker, the envelope sends a jolt to his heart. If this is what he thinks it is...

Kurt thanks the concierge -  _James, his name tag says James, remember that_  - and takes his new possession out into the city with him. He walks until he spots his new favorite coffee shop, Bean There (Done That), and slips inside. Luckily, there isn't a line, so it's only minutes before he's sitting at a table with a latte and an apple danish in tow.

A glimpse at his phone tells him it's just after 9 AM, so he has plenty of time to spare before his meeting. He spends some time simply looking around as he eats his danish, grinning at the couple in the corner that's giving each other eskimo kisses over their coffee. The scene would have made him feel lonely in a different time, but he's a different Kurt Hummel now. He's confident in his own skin - not that he wasn't before, but it's a more radiant, positive confidence now, not just a mask to hide behind. And he's discovered that he is, for lack of a better word, desirable. Kurt can't help but notice that, every once in a while, someone is staring too long on the subway, or a barista stutters as he repeats Kurt's order back to him.

One thing hasn't changed, though: Kurt still dreams of romantic gestures and moonlight walks, picnic dates and cruise ship escapades. The city, though romantic in its own right, certainly hasn't brought him any of  _that_.

The thoughts bring him back to the envelope, which is sitting innocently on the table in front of him, begging to be opened. He can't wait any longer; he tears it open, noting that the handwriting is more even this time.

**

_Taxis are yellow,_  
 _The Hudson is blue._  
 _Not a star in the sky_  
 _Could shine brighter than you._  
 _My coffee's grown cold,_  
 _But still, I don't mind._  
 _As long as you read_  
 _This one simple rhyme._

  
_So, don't judge me, but I might have stayed up late trying to come up with an appropriately non-creepy poem. I swear, I'm a pretty normal guy. Who just so happens to have had his breath taken away by you. That's normal, right?_

_\- Nightbird_

_P.S. I got your name from the front desk, and I'm aware that that IS creepy. Please don't get James in trouble - he's just helping me out._

**

Kurt has to cover his mouth to keep from smiling too widely. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he should, maybe, find this a little on the weird side - but he pushes it away. There's someone out there that is writing poems for him. There's nothing that could burst his bubble, not today. So it's with good cheer and a skip in his step that he's soon leaving the coffee shop, more than content to go on with the day as planned, the words of the poem ringing through his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The first two letters are only the beginning, as Kurt is quick to discover.

The next one comes when he finally returns home after meeting with his TA, who has turned out to be a fantastic conversationalist - they had even gone shopping together which, of course, takes some time when it comes to Kurt Hummel.

He isn't expecting anything special when he turns the key, so he's surprised and a little startled when an envelope drops down in front of him as he opens the door. It must have been tucked between the door and the frame - or this mystery guy is actually a magician. Kurt decides it's more likely the former when he picks it up off the ground and brings it inside.

There's no preamble; Kurt opens the envelope right there, just inside the door of his apartment.

**

_You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs,_  
 _But I look around me and I see it isn't so, oh no._  
 _Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs,_  
 _And what's wrong with that?_  
 _I'd like to know,_  
 _'Cause here I go again..._

  
_I don't think I've mentioned that Valentine's Day used to be my favorite holiday. Used to be, because I've since had some unfortunate experiences around that time of year. But seeing you makes me wonder if it's worth it to believe in the magic of Valentine's Day again. That's when you're supposed to lay it all on the line and say to someone, "I'm in love with you," and there's something really great about that._

_Hopeless (yet jaded) romantic, that's me._

_\- Nightbird_

  
_Love doesn't come in a minute;_  
 _Sometimes it doesn't come at all._  
 _I only know that when I'm in it,_  
 _It isn't silly, no, it isn't silly,_  
 _Love isn't silly at all._

**

The second and third letters soon find their place in Kurt's nightstand, where he's also returned the first one. It becomes a bit of a nighttime ritual for Kurt to read each one before picking up his book. His favorite is still the very first letter, for some reason.

A few days after that third letter, Kurt is on the balcony again, watching nothing in particular. It's a Saturday afternoon, the sun is bright in the sky, and he has absolutely no plans for the day except to be completely lazy. Not too many people know this about him, but Kurt loves it when he can sit back and relax without any obligations to worry about. He still has another full week before the term begins, but he starts work on Monday, so that makes this weekend his last couple of free days.

His only warning is a faint whooshing sound before he looks up and spots another envelope, attached to a weight, dropping down - and hitting the railing before continuing to fall down to the street below. He hears a whispered " _shit_ " and tries to catch a glimpse of whoever said it by leaning over and stretching his neck, but the guy seems to have backed away from the edge of his own balcony.

Kurt grins in spite of himself and bites his lip to keep from laughing as he starts to go back inside after a few minutes. A metallic  _thump_  causes him to turn around, however, and he smiles wider when he sees that Nightbird's aim had been true this time.

"Thank you," he says loudly, hoping that he'd been heard. He feels a bit silly - but really, he has to express his gratitude somehow.

"You're welcome!" The response is muffled in the sound of traffic, but Kurt laughs out loud at it, still beaming. Kurt picks up the new letter and tears it open; he starts to read, this time putting a voice to the words.

**

_Looks like some random passersby is going to find a note with lyrics from P!NK's Perfect inside that envelope. I guess my aim can't always be perfect, so to speak._

_Our "neighbor" (the balcony to the left, the floor in between us, I'm guessing you've already figured out that I'm two floors up) tells me that you spend a lot of time out here. I like that. It isn't often that people take the time to appreciate the city for what it is outside of all the events and famous faces._

_I want to get this to you before you go inside so I'm going to wrap this up and promise there will be more next time!_

_\- Nightbird_

**

God, he really wants to know who this is. Kurt heads back inside to make a salad for himself, taking a quick detour to drop the letter off in his nightstand with the others. 

If he's honest with himself, he could probably get letters with nothing but a single, meaningless word from this Nightbird person and still feel this excited about it.

Kurt sings Defying Gravity softly as he makes his lunch, imagining what it would be like to know whoever is writing the letters. Maybe he's a barista somewhere, writing ideas for future letters during his break times. Maybe he lives a secret life as a superhero protecting the citizens of New York by night.

Kurt scoffs, rolling his eyes at himself. What has this boy done to him?

 

* * *

 

The term begins sooner than Kurt realizes, the letters and his daily activities making each passing day seem to last about as long as a second. He finds envelopes fairly regularly - normally they're waiting for him on the balcony, but occasionally they're given to him by James at the front desk, who's clearly enjoying the little game that he's playing a part in. 

The Nightbird alias is eradicated after the sixth letter, the author instead changing it to simply B. The note states that it's for simplicity's sake, but Kurt thinks there's more to it than just a random letter of the alphabet, and has no problem calling him B in his mind. He's already gone through all the B names he can think of - Brian? Ben? Beauregard? - but nothing seems to fit.

Not that he could know what  _would_  fit, but Kurt feels like he knows more about B than he really does. It's a strange feeling that's only intensified every time he sees that handwriting, always written on blue-lined notebook paper, sometimes smudged with eraser marks and other times written neatly in black pen. Each lowercase G seems to mimic his own stomach as it swoops across the page, and Kurt is finding himself looking forward to the next letter immediately after reading each new one.

 

* * *

 

About a month into the semester, Kurt decides to let himself be dragged to a party for the first time since last spring. Against his better judgement, he ends up drunk out of his mind, and he's stumbling into the elevator of his own apartment complex at - actually, he's not exactly sure what time it is, but it's certainly after midnight. And he's not alone.

He has no idea who he's managed to snag from the party, can't remember a name - but he doesn't need one, not when the only words he has to use are Please, Fuck, and Me. The elevator dings when they reach his floor and they both trip out, trying to walk and kiss at the same time, both of which have become significantly more difficult since... well, since a few drinks ago.

Kurt ends up slamming the guy against the door to his apartment, fumbling for his keys as he sucks yet another mark into his neck, something moving just on the edge of his field of vision - but when he looks, there's nothing there.

His momentary confusion is forgotten as he finally gets the door open - any possible regrets lost in his drunken haze - and pushes inside, directing them both to the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

_That was a terrible idea._

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut against the glare of the sun through his window, but only succeeds in intensifying his pounding, piercing headache.

_That was a stupid, horrible, terrible idea._

He lies in bed and sincerely hopes that he's alone as he cracks one eye open - thankfully, the guy seems to have bolted quite a while ago. Good riddance.

Kurt grumbles irritably as he tries to sit up, wincing at the stickiness of the sheets against his own skin and wondering, again, exactly why he ever thought that getting drunk was a good idea. It never ends well, not unless the guy he inevitably picks up has the decency to make some coffee in the morning. He shakes his head and-

_Ouch. Okay, no more thinking. Just doing._

He battles nausea as he stands up, tottering slightly. He puts a hand on the nightstand to steady himself and remembers the letters inside, twelve of them now. Kurt bites his lip as he realizes the sinking in his stomach isn't his hangover, but guilt. He knows he has absolutely no reason to feel guilty but he does anyways, and it's the last thing he wants to think about right now as he shuffles off to the shower.

Some forty-five minutes later, Kurt is mostly put-together. He's still hungover, of course, but at least he can function somewhat well. He makes some tea and carries the mug with him as he goes out to the balcony - which has become a regular habit, now. He has no idea what exactly is so appealing about standing out there, but it's something that never fails to help him relax.

He can hear Latin music playing faintly from one of the apartments around him, and he smiles, swaying gently to the rhythm. It's only then that he notices something laying in front of him and looks down to see two envelopes that couldn't have been there the night before. Or - wait, he'd never checked the night before. Right.

Kurt picks them up and brings them inside, settling on his couch to read them. One had been on top of the other, so Kurt decides to read the one that seems to have been dropped first, just in case they're meant to be read in order. Maybe B had forgotten to add something to the first note, and that's why he sent down another one.

Pushing away the effects of the hangover, Kurt rips open the envelope with little care and begins reading.

**

_You might think I don't look,_  
 _But deep inside_  
 _In the corner of my mind,_  
 _I'm attached to you._  
 _I'm weak,_  
 _It's true,_  
 _'Cause I'm afraid to know the answer._  
 _Do you want me too?_  
 _'Cause my heart keeps falling faster._

  
_I've waited all my life to cross this line_  
 _To the only thing that's true._  
 _So I will not hide, it's time to try_  
 _Anything to be with you._  
 _All my life I've waited,_  
 _This is true._

  
_Meet me in the lobby?_

_\- B_

**

Kurt wants to feel excited - but there's something not right about this. Why is there another letter? He opens the next one warily, as if it might explode into flames at any second. It's short, even shorter than the first one, and Kurt's heart falls before he even begins reading.

**

_I was on my way down to the lobby when I saw you and who I guess must be your boyfriend or something. It's probably not appropriate for me to send these to you if that's the case, so... nevermind._

_Good luck in all your endeavors; I'll try not to interfere any longer._

_\- B_

**

Kurt rereads it, sure that he must be missing something important, but nothing changes. B doesn't want to send him any more notes, and it's because he thinks that Kurt is taken.

 _Once again, a_  terrible _idea._

He slumps against the couch, feeling worse than he has in months, maybe years. He had been so close, but now... it's over. It's over before it even had a chance to start.

But then he remembers the poems, the lyrics, and that very first note. Had that really all been for nothing? He sits up, ignoring his body's protests, and reaches for the notebook he'd left on the couch from doing homework a few nights ago.

 _There is no way in hell this is over_ , he thinks.  _Not if_ I _have anything to say about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those last lyrics are from [True](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5f3S2NDK8Jg), by Ryan Cabrera.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being in New York City is almost everything that Kurt Hummel has ever dreamed of - but when an anonymous note-writer drops into his life, he has to wonder if there's something more out there for him.

_B--_

_Let me start off by telling you that what you saw? It was the product of a less-than-sophisticated night of partying and alcohol. I don't even know his name. I don't want this, whatever it is, to stop just because of that. So, that being said..._

_Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel (as you know). I'm a sophomore at NYU, and I plan to go into design for stage and film. I'm hopelessly addicted to coffee and Tremé. My childhood was spent suffering through conservative Ohio, and I somehow made it out in order to live in the city of my dreams._

_Tell me about yourself?_

_Sincerely, K_

**

Kurt reads over his words again, making sure that it gets his point across. He doesn't want to scare B off with his request for more information, but he needs to know. If Kurt can't have a name, maybe he can simply piece together a person in his mind's eye, something more than just a series of rhymes and silly observations. There's only one problem.

Kurt has no idea how to get this note to B. At least, not without possibly stumbling upon a name or walking right into the guy himself.

Regardless, he folds it neatly and sticks it into an envelope, sealing it with a couple of bitter-tasting licks to the adhesive. _Note to self: Buy stickers for sealing purposes._

That done, he wanders out to the balcony, where the sun is starting to set. The colors are just as vibrant as ever, but they seem dull and uninteresting to Kurt tonight. He leans against the railing and sighs, rolling his eyes at the music that's still playing from one of the other apartments. He can appreciate a love for music, sure, but all day long? Maybe he's just bitter today.

"Good evening, loverboy." Kurt spins around, looking for the source of the voice. He doesn't see anything, and wonders if he's imagining things when he hears it again. "Up here."

He looks up at the balcony that sits a floor above his, the one to which the stairs lead off to the left. There's a woman standing there, her arms folded on top of the railing, and she's smirking.

"I guess your detective skills aren't quite up to par today, Barney Fife."

"Who are you?" Kurt asks abruptly, probably rudely. He has no patience to deal with anyone today, particularly not anyone who seems bent on insulting him -- he'd had enough of that back in high school.

"Santana Lopez," she answers casually. "And you're Kurt."

"How do you know that?" She scoffs, as if he should know this already.

"He dropped one of those things on my deck once," Santana says, pointing to the apartment directly above Kurt's, two floors up. "And then he came down apologizing to me like he'd accidentally set the city on fire or something. He's attractive in a weirdly adorable kind of way, in case you were wondering."

"And..."

"And he told me the entire sickening love story you guys have going on," she says, rolling her eyes. "He's like a smitten puppy when he talks about you."

"Yeah, well, he's not sending me any more letters," Kurt mutters. "Not unless I can get this to him."

"Oh, the plot thickens. What did you do?"

"It's just a misunderstanding, and I'd appreciate if you didn't pry into my personal life."

"Oh please, it's not like I'd tell anyone. Does it have anything to do with the trash you dragged in and fucked last night?"

Kurt splutters -- he's been caught off-guard, and it annoys him to no end. He decides not to ask any further questions; there are more important things at hand. "Look, either you can help me or you can fuck off and leave me alone."

"Kitty's got claws," she purrs, and Kurt's about to give up when she speaks again. "You want me to give that to him?" _Finally._

"Yes, please," he says, and Santana slips under the barrier of chains at the top of the stairs to climb down and take the letter from him. She's still smirking, and Kurt can't help but worry about... something. Anything. He's just worried, okay?

"Relax, he'll go right back to writing entire novels to you in no time," she assures him.

"Thank you," he says, completely honest, and she just shakes her head.

"If you ever repeat this, I will deny it, but knowing that that lovesick idiot upstairs would do anything for you -- it's nice. It makes me feel like there's a chance of finding that, even for me." Santana seems to regret her confession immediately after saying it, however, and she starts to return to her apartment with Kurt's letter in hand. 

"Hey, Santana."

"What?"

"You'll find him one day." Santana smiles at that, sending Kurt a rather saucy wink that he can't for the life of him figure out.

"I'll keep that in mind." With that she's going back up the steps, and Kurt heads back into his own apartment. He has no idea what might happen next, but he's hoping for the best. 

 

* * *

 

" _Hey kid, what's up? School going okay for you?_ "

"Hi Dad. Yeah, it is, it's amazing." Kurt's making a pizza for himself -- frozen pizza, but he's learned to be less picky since the move to New York -- and his dad is on speaker, the phone sitting on the counter nearby.

" _I'm glad to hear it._ "

"I say that every time," Kurt says, smiling as he shakes his head. "How do you know I'm not lying?"

" _Because I know you, and when you say that it's amazing, I know it's amazing. You wouldn't sound as happy as you do if it wasn't._ "

"Okay, fair enough. How's the shop?"

" _It's doing fine, like always. With the cold weather starting to settle in, everybody's coming to me to make sure they're ready for winter driving. I didn't call to talk about me, though._ "

"Oh?" Kurt eyes the phone warily as he slides the pizza into the oven, setting the timer without really thinking about it.

" _Mhm. You got any boys on the run so far this year?_ "

"Dad!"

" _What? I can ask!_ "

"You make it sound like there's a horde of men chasing after me every time I walk down the street," Kurt says, laughing.

" _Why wouldn't they?_ "

"Because you'd scare them all off before they could get too close."

" _I wouldn't._ " Kurt hears his dad scoff on the other end and rolls his eyes.

"You would and you know it."

" _Okay, maybe I would. You're my son before you're anyone's boyfriend, remember that._ " And Kurt does, knows that he's so lucky to have a father like Burt Hummel. He wouldn't sacrifice that connection for the world. " _I mean it though, is there anyone you have your eye on?_ "

Kurt remembers when his dad preferred to leave him alone, when he had been slightly uncomfortable with talking about this sort of thing. Now, though, all of that is gone, and Kurt usually finds himself pleasantly (and embarrassedly) surprised at how willing Burt is to talk about potential boyfriends.

"Well, there is someone," he admits, his thoughts traveling to the drawer in his room. It's still full of letters, all of the ones he'd received except for the very last one.

" _What's his name?_ "

"I don't know." Kurt winces, realizing how that sounds, and hurries to clarify. "Someone has been sending me... I guess they're like secret admirer notes. With poems and song lyrics and it's... it's sweet."

" _Anonymously._ "

"Yes. I know what you're thinking, but it's real."  _It has to be._

" _Alright. You really like this guy, don't you?_ "

Kurt laughs quietly as he leans on the counter next to his phone and stares down at his hands. "Yeah, I think I do."

" _Then I'm okay with it. But I want to meet him if things end up serious, alright?_ "

"As if I'd try to hide him from you," Kurt says, but he feels giddy and like he could fly. It has been a day since he sent Santana to deliver his letter, and his worries are still there, but he's not about to let that bring him down.

" _Good. Hey, Carole's home, so I'll talk to you later._ "

"Bye, Dad. I love you."

" _Love you too, Kurt. Don't forget--_ "

"Dinner is cooking as we speak, Dad. I remembered this time."

" _Just makin' sure. Bye!_ " The line clicks and Kurt chuckles. There had been a night (or two) that he'd forgotten to make dinner for one reason or another, and Burt is clearly determined to make sure that that doesn't happen again.

The pizza still has ten minutes left to bake, so Kurt takes the time to go out and stand on the balcony again. He can hear a piano playing from somewhere nearby and smiles, but then it stops abruptly. Shrugging, Kurt stretches his arms and glances down at the street below, where people are scurrying about like ants.

"Heads up!" is his only warning when something comes flying down from above; Kurt jumps out of the way with his arms over his head in a feeble attempt at protection, his eyes closed. There's a  _thump_  and he opens them to see a plain envelope -- sealed with a red sticker -- sitting there.

"Thanks for the warning," he shouts, sure that B is still standing up there.

"No problem!"

"If you're fine with talking to each other then why are you still sending letters? I was taking a nap!"

"San, just... go away."

Kurt starts laughing at the exchange. He can see Santana glaring up the steps to B's apartment from where she's leaning out of the sliding glass door. She turns to Kurt and gives him an expectant look, at which he just shakes his head. If B wants to keep conversing this way, that's how he's going to do it, Santana's napping schedule be damned.

"You're lucky I find this all sickeningly sweet," she grumbles, loud enough for both of them to hear. "Otherwise I would gladly go all East Side Adjacent on you both."

"Is that even a real place?"

"Fuck off, Aladdin, and take your magic hair gel with you."

Kurt decides to leave then, unwilling to wait any longer to open the new letter. He flops down on the couch and tears it open, pulling out the familiar notebook paper.

**

_Kurt Hummel,_

_Hi, I'm B (for now), and I'm a freshman at NYU. I plan to study music, but I also write in my spare time. I'm also addicted to coffee, as well as Cake Boss -- I can already feel you judging me for some reason, and I hope that isn't a deal breaker. I'm also from Ohio and I didn't exactly enjoy my time there either. So I moved out early and got my GED here instead._

_I had a boyfriend, and I was hopelessly in love with him for two years. Then I tried to surprise him at his house and found him in bed with someone else, and he eventually told me that that was a regular thing. It ended there._

_I'd given up on love, but then I saw you in the lobby. I saw you, and I thought maybe I could give it a second chance. And then I saw you with someone else, and I guess it just brought back bad memories._

_I'm terrified, and I don't know if I'm doing any of this right, but I'm willing to give this (whatever it is) another shot if you are._

_Let me know._

_\- B_

**

Kurt grins wide as he reaches for his notebook, ripping out a page without care for anything except giving B a response as soon as possible. It isn't long before he's scribbling out a short note, his handwriting messy and not up to his usual standards, but none of that matters now.

And then he's searching for an envelope, muttering profanities as he pulls open drawer after drawer. Finally, he finds one tucked into a corner of the kitchen and he sticks the note inside -- but not until after he reads it over, just once.

**

_B--_

_Whenever you're ready, I'm yours. Whatever you want me to be, I'll be it._

_Sincerely, K_

**

It scares him to death how willing he is to do this, to commit himself to a guy he only knows by some words written on a page and a voice shouted over the sounds of the city. Kurt Hummel doesn't fall in love without being absolutely sure of himself.

Except he's not, and he's still falling. Falling for the bright personality he feels like he can read between the lines, for the warmth of his voice -- for  _him_. Kurt Hummel is, quite simply, falling in love with a mystery, and he couldn't be more terrified by the prospect of it.

He slows himself down by pulling the pizza out of the oven -- it's slightly burned, but still edible, so Kurt leaves it to cool on the counter as he takes his note out to the balcony, desperately hoping that Santana is out there.

Luckily for him, she is.

Santana's lounging on a lawn chair she must have brought out recently, a book in her hands. She doesn't even look at him as she says, "I expected you to be out here sooner."

"I had a pizza to save," Kurt says in response, waving the envelope in the air. "Do me a favor?" She puts down the book to look at him then, and groans.

"Do I look like the post office on the corner of 50th and Rainbow Road?"

"Please?" It's hurting his pride to practically beg, but there's no time to dwell on that.

"Fine," she says, getting up and strolling to the top of the steps. "Toss it."

"Oh-- Okay." Kurt's aim isn't perfect, but he manages to get the envelope to her without accidentally throwing it down into the street.

"Was it really necessary to put it in an envelope?" she asks.

"Just give it to him."

"You're bossier than he is," she huffs, turning away. "I'm putting my money on you giving it to him when you both get your shit together."

"Oh my god."

"Power bottom?"

Kurt shakes his head, refusing to answer, and instead just points up to B's apartment. Santana gets the message and sighs, waving him off. Kurt grins cheekily in spite of himself and goes back inside to get the pizza that has been calling his name. And if he hums a happy tune as he sits on the couch with his plate in hand and the TV on -- well, it all comes down to someone that happens to live two floors above him. Someone that Kurt thinks he could love, and maybe he already does.

 

* * *

 

It has been two weeks.

Two weeks since Kurt gave Santana his last message for B, and he hasn't had a single reply. He's about to give up entirely -- he's heard of another party and is debating with himself about whether or not to go. It's not like he has anything to stay at home for; he's waited long enough.

He has seen Santana a few times, but when he asks about B, she just shrugs and says she doesn't know anything. "I haven't seen him at all," she says to him tonight, when he makes a last, feeble attempt at questioning her. So he starts back inside, ready to lose himself in pounding music and dim lighting and the feel of someone close to him, moving with him. It's not going to be perfect, but then again, Kurt doesn't think anyone other than  _him_  would feel right at this point.

He hears someone --  _is that Santana?_  -- shouting in Spanish as he slides the door closed, and his curiosity gets the better of him. He goes back outside and flinches when an envelope drops down in front of him.

_Oh._

"...are _not_  bringing that thing down here," Santana is yelling, and she reverts back to angry Spanish as Kurt bends down to pick up the letter. The envelope isn't unmarked this time -- there's something written on the back of it:

_Open outside._

Kurt blinks a few times, confused, but he does as he's told as he opens the envelope. Like he has so many times before, Kurt pulls out the note page and begins to read.

**

_I never understood before_   
_I never knew what love was for_   
_My heart was broke, my head was sore_   
_What a feeling_

  
_Tied up in ancient history_   
_I didn't believe in destiny_   
_I look up, you're standing next to me_   
_What a feeling_

  
_What a feeling in my soul_   
_Love burns brighter than sunshine_   
_Brighter than sunshine_   
_Let the rain fall, I don't care_   
_I'm yours and suddenly you're mine_   
_Suddenly you're mine_   
_And it's brighter than sunshine_

**

The note doesn't end with the usual signature, or any sort of message at all besides the lyrics, and Kurt has absolutely no idea what's going on. [That is, until he hears piano playing nearby](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUgmcIcRE90) -- he looks up almost instinctively towards Santana's apartment and...

And it's him, it has to be.

Playing a keyboard on the balcony, level with the top step, is a man with bright, cheerful eyes and gently gelled dark hair. He's wearing a pair of glasses that seem to add to the whole bohemian writer persona that has come through in his letters and, now, in his appearance. Even in the quickly diminishing sunlight, maybe because of it, he seems to glow. His grin is infectious and Kurt soon finds himself smiling easily, as if he's known this guy his whole life and this is just another day with him.

_I could get used to this_ , he thinks, and it's all he can think.

B finishes the song and nearly trips over the keyboard as he moves it out of the way; Kurt can't help but giggle a bit, hiding his mouth behind his hand. Santana, who has been standing there and watching the entire time, seems to decide that this is her cue to leave. She points at B almost threateningly, and he just rolls his eyes at her, nodding. She goes back into her apartment after that with a last glance and a thumbs-up to Kurt.

B is coming down the steps towards Kurt now, and it's all Kurt can do to keep still and  _not_  freak out like he's meeting Lady Gaga. That would be utterly embarrassing, and he's determined not to let that happen.

Soon, they're standing face to face, and Kurt realizes that B is just a bit shorter than himself. But then B is holding out a piece of notebook paper and Kurt takes it, an eyebrow raised, before reading it.

**

_You are truly brighter than sunshine._

_Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson, and you've taken my breath away._

**

"It's nice to finally meet you, Blaine Anderson," Kurt says, and he groans inwardly. Way to kick off the first real conversation.

"And I you, Kurt Hummel," Blaine answers with a wink, and god if that doesn't make Kurt's heart melt that much more. Suddenly Blaine looks worried, unsure. "Was all of that-- Was it okay? I don't want to overstep my boundaries." 

"No, no, it was perfect. It was amazing, actually," Kurt corrects himself. "No one has ever done something like that for me before."

"Great! So, um, at the risk of really overstepping..."

"Go on," Kurt prompts him, curious.

"How do you feel about kissing a stranger?" Blaine finishes, looking up at Kurt through long eyelashes, a small smile curving at the corners of his lips.  _Those lips._

"I'm not the kind of person to kiss someone I don't even know," Kurt says, and Blaine looks disheartened.

"I understand, it's fine--"

"But you're not a stranger to me," Kurt adds. With that he's looping his arms around Blaine's shoulders, pulling him in gently, waiting for Blaine to resist, to change his mind. But he doesn't, and Kurt closes his eyes and lets himself go.

It's a shock when their lips touch, and Kurt has no idea how this feels so strangely different. He's kissed plenty of guys before, many of whom were perfectly good at it, but there's something different about this. Something more, maybe. He could just be imagining things, but when Blaine pushes into the kiss, insistent and wanting, Kurt knows this isn't just a dream.

The sun has finally set beyond the city, only a hazy glow left behind. But Kurt is, for once, unaware of the sun.

After all, he now has something much brighter and more vibrant than the sun could hope to match, and it's with that in mind that Kurt slips back into his apartment hand in hand with Blaine.

Like night and day, star and sun, they tumble onto the couch; Kurt still has no idea if this will last, but as he looks at Blaine's unrestrained smile and the way his eyes betray nothing but honest trust, he has a feeling that this could be it.


End file.
